


Blacking Out the Friction

by agent_orange



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Clothed Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Underwear Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 07:33:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2016432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_orange/pseuds/agent_orange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nate's stretched out beside him, wearing nothing but regulation black briefs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blacking Out the Friction

When Brad wakes up, body all warm from the California sun, Nate's stretched out beside him, wearing nothing but regulation black briefs. He looks exactly how Brad imagined he would, during combat jacks, and it throws him a little. Nate's had ample time to shop for new underwear—he's lost his combat pallor already. Brad's surprised 'purchase new underwear' wasn't at the top of Nate's to-do list (right after 'fly to California', of course), given how much most of the other guys hated them. Nate had never said anything, free-balling it most of the time instead.

He's not complaining, though. The black's faded with age and wear, but it highlights the beginnings of Nate's tan, and the tenting in the front is clear when Nate rolls over.

"Morning," he says, lazy smile spreading across his face. His hair's grown longer than regulation now, is all mussed and tangled from sleep. "You're finally up."

"Could've woken me," Brad mumbles. They both know Brad would probably have kicked Nate out of bed.

"Right." Nate huffs a laugh, and starts to take off his briefs.

Brad grabs Nate's wrist, fingers locking around it so Nate can't move. "Leave them on," he orders, much more awake now that he can see the hard line of Nate's cock pressing against the fabric.

"Yes, _sir_ ," Nate replies jokingly, licking into Brad's mouth. His breath is minty-fresh with toothpaste, and Brad's reminded that he still has morning breath, though Nate doesn't seem to care.

They jostle for position, Brad winning out in the end, what with his superior height and weight; Nate seems perfectly content to lie there, sucking marks on Brad's neck and shoulders. His dick's rubbing against Brad's belly, leaking through the fabric of his briefs. Nate hooks his fingers into the waistband and tries to shimmy out of them. Brad's not having that. Somehow, Nate looks hotter with his worn, stained, fucking _military-issue_ underwear than he does naked, and that's saying something.

"Leave them the fuck _on_ ," Brad repeats, reaching for the condoms and lube on the bedside table. They fucked last night, too—well, Nate sucked Brad's cock, fingered him a little, and Brad got him off twice with his hands—but it's still a novelty. Doing this in a bed instead of pressed against a berm or the Humvee (or a box of cigarettes that one time). Not rushing through the motions of a handjob or a blowjob, actually having time to enjoy it.

Nate arches up into the touch when Brad pinches a nipple, a little moan escaping before he can bite it back. Brad does it again, watches how Nate's eyes glaze over when Brad's fingers skim over the area just below Nate's navel. "Fuck," Nate says. " _Brad_."

When Nate does slide the briefs down, so the elastic's tight against his thighs, Brad lets it go. He slicks his fingers, lube cool against his skin, and shifts so he's kneeling between Nate's legs, the mattress a comfortable change from rocky soil. Nate clenches around him when Brad eases two fingers in, starts to relax when Brad runs his clean hand down Nate's side, letting it rest on his leg.

"Can you take more?" he asks, though he knows Nate can, had Nate stretched around his dick a few days ago. Nate nods wordlessly, pushing down onto Brad's fingers. _More_. Brad adds a third, crooks it just so, and watches Nate's eyes snap open and go bright with pleasure.

The thread of the briefs is starting to come undone from the strain Nate's spread-wide legs are putting on it, so Brad tears them off and fumbles for a condom, moving fast enough to get it on himself that it's almost desperate. "Turn over," he says, but Nate doesn't, just opens his legs wider and takes a breath, holds it as Brad pushes into him, slow and even. It's not until Brad's fully inside him that Nate exhales shakily.

A pink flush spreads across Nate's cheeks, down his neck and to his chest, like being filled by Brad is so fucking embarrassing, but it only makes him look younger, more earnest. Brad smirks. Of _course_ his former CO could manage to look innocent and like a picture of sin at the same time.

His nails leave angry little half-moon marks on Nate's hips when he grips them to fuck up into Nate harder.

"Touch yourself for me," he grunts. "C'mon." Nate does, biting his lip harder as his cock slips through his fist. That, and the sensation of Nate around him, hot and tight, makes Brad come. It's unexpected, a little too soon, but Brad feels it everywhere—in his toes, in the pit of his stomach, his chest. Nate rides it out with him, warmth spilling over his hand onto his stomach.

"You should get more of those briefs," he tells Nate once they've both caught their breath. "They look good on you."


End file.
